Who Dares, Wins
by ME-Iron-Maiden
Summary: Set during the events of the first game, Jennifer Mui meets an American Intel officer who defies the stereotype of his profession. Mui/OC, Rated M for language, violence, etc.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Ok. Since Halo of Flies has stalled a bit on me, I've decided to switch gears for a bit. (Yeah, now I have to write 2 stories instead of one... _) Anyways, here's my story. Reviews are definately appreciated for either story._

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Mercenaries franchise. Trust me, you'd know it if I did._

_They had better have a decent contract for me this time, _Jennifer Mui thought in irritation as she pulls her humvee into the AN base at the Korean DMZ a couple hours before sunset._ If they make me escort another member of the press, I'm leaving the bastard in the middle of the nearest NK camp. _Walking into the HQ building with a nod to the guard at the door, she walks into the main room and plops down into a chair while she listens to Colonel Garrett rail at someone on the phone.

"Hey, Mui," Garrett says, hanging up on whoever pissed him off. "You've got good timing."

"If this is yet another escort mission, I'm walking out the door," Mui counters, her London accent thickening slightly from her irritation over being what amounts to be an over-glorified babysitter.

"Can't say I blame you after that last one. Thing is, the only job I've got available IS an escort job."

"And what precisely is stopping me from telling you to sod off?" Mui asks pointedly.

"The fact that the contract pays two hundred thousand and should be more interesting than babysitting pain in the ass reporters," Garrett answers quickly.

"Two hundred thousand?" she asks, her eyebrows rising in surprise. "Just who am I going to be escorting?"

"One of my linguists. He's going to be running around and talking to his contacts."

"Then why not assign a squad of your soldiers to the job?"

"We want this to be low key. Linguists are hard to come by and I don't want the NK military to know that he's running around."

"Fair enough. So. Two hundred thousand dollars. I'm assuming bonuses might be available?" Mui asks, wanting a better feel for the job before she agrees to it.

"Depending on what happens during the course of the contract, I might be able to work something out," Garrett says, not exactly fond of Mui trying to get more money out of him, but her skill easily makes her worth the premium she charges.

"How long is the job?"

"Depends on how fast he gets the information, but I'm guessing at least a couple weeks, maybe a month," Garrett answers after a moment's thought. "You start immediately, assuming you take the job."

_Babysitting a linguist for a month for two hundred thousand plus possible bonuses? That's one of the better jobs I've been offered since I got here. Boring, but lucrative at least,_ Mui thought behind a mask of boredom. "Alright. I'll take the job," she says.

"Alright. I'll send the contract over to ExOps and Major Howard can help you get everything squared away," Garrett said, obviously relieved that she accepted the contract.

"Right this way," Howard says, leading Mui out of the meeting room and down the hall to where the intelligence division is set up. "Is Lieutenant Martin on duty now?" he asks the British Sergeant who's manning the desk by the door.

"No, sir," the sergeant answers, snapping to attention.

"At ease, sergeant. Any idea where I can find him?"

"If he's not in the barracks, he's either at the armory or the shooting range," the sergeant answers, his voice having a Liverpool accent.

"Thank you, sergeant. Carry on," Howard says, leaving the room with Mui in tow.

"A bit odd for a linguist to be spending time at an armory, isn't it?" she asks, her curiosity piqued.

"Yeah. Lieutenant Martin is… unique," Howard comments.

"I gather that means he's crazy?"

"I don't know about that, but he definitely isn't your typical linguist," Howard answers as they drive a staff car to the armory.

Getting out of the car, they head inside just in time to hear the armorer let out a long string of profanity and call the ancestry of the last person to use a particular machinegun into question.

"Having problems, Sergeant?" Howard asked when the irate soldier stopped to take a breath.

"Nothing I can't handle, sir," the sergeant said as he sets the partially disassembled M249 SAW aside and goes to attention.

"At ease, sergeant," Howard said. "I'm looking for Lieutenant Martin."

"He just went out back to test fire one of the M4A1s I just got done rebuilding after some idiot decided to not lube the rifle and then fire it like it was an MG. The moron went cyclic with every mag he had on him."

"I see. Well, carry on, then," Howard said as he and Mui walk out of the building and head to the range out back.

As they walk up to the firing line, they spot a smallish man wearing shooting glasses and earmuffs in addition to his AN-issue uniform standing at a bench, loading several magazines for the carbine in front of him.

"Lieutenant Martin?" Howard calls out as they approach.

"Yes sir?" the man asks, setting the magazine down and facing the Major and Mui. Since they're out in the open, he doesn't salute or go to attention. _Officers are sniper bait to begin with. No way am I going to make things easy for them._

"This is Jennifer Mui," Howard said. "She's going to be your escort on your mission. Play nice, you two," he quips as he heads back to HQ.

"I've heard a lot about you, Ms. Mui," Martin said, offering to shake hands with the merc.

"I'm sure you have, Leftenant," Mui answered cordially, shaking hands with him. Then she notices the service tape on his uniform. "You're Air Force?" she asks, a bit surprised since she expected him to be Army.

"Yeah," he says, turning back to the bench. "Hard to believe a fly-boy would be out here shooting guns instead of trying to host the latest online RPG isn't it?" he continues, poking fun at the stereotype of the nerdy intel puke.

_Great. A bloody American cowboy,_ she thinks as he picks up the rifle.

"You might want to grab some ears. I'm going hot and the last thing I need to do is wreck your hearing," he says, inserting a magazine into the rifle with a push/pull motion to make sure it's properly seated before racking the charging handle to chamber a round and shouldering the rifle.

_He's left handed,_ Mui notes as she puts on her hearing protection. When Martin sees that she's wearing the muffs, he flicks the carbine's safety off with his trigger finger and fires ten shots slowly and methodically. _Not bad,_ she thinks as all of his shots ring off the steel torso-shaped target one hundred meters away.

_Alright. The gun hasn't lost any accuracy and the sights are still zeroed, _Martin thinks, lowering the rifle so he can see where his shots impacted. Raising the rifle back to his shoulder, he burns through the rest of the ammo on semi-auto, firing as fast as he can re-acquire the sights. The rifle performs as expected, not hiccupping once and putting every round where the sights were looking.

"That's some fair shooting," Mui allows, not wanting to show that she's actually somewhat impressed. _His marksmanship is better than your run-of-the-mill soldier._

"Thanks," he answers, loading another magazine into the rifle with the same push/pull and slapping the bolt release to charge the weapon. Flicking the selector from semi to auto, Martin fires in bursts of five to seven rounds, quickly running through all thirty rounds. Repeating the process with the remaining three magazines, Martin clears and safes the rifle, satisfied that it's in proper order. He's also happy with his shooting, not a single round missed his target.

"If you're quite finished, perhaps we can talk about my job," Mui says sarcastically, hiding how impressed she is with his shooting.

"No need to get your panties in a twist," Martin says almost reflexively, firing back out of habit. "Just let me drop this carbine off in the armory and we can get going." As they walk, Martin takes his first real look at Mui; a tall, athletic frame that isn't lacking for curves; her outfit is a purple overcoat with off-white cargo pants, black boots, finger gloves, a well-used pack, what looks to be a SIG-Sauer P226 in a thigh holster, and an M4A1 carbine slung on her back. Her hair is raven black, hovering just above her shoulders, and her slightly almond-shaped eyes are a rich earth brown.

_Holy shit,_ _she's hot. And from the way she's carrying herself, she knows it._ _Definitely out of my league, though. Just my luck,_he thinks. He's couple inches shorter than his new partner and solidly built for his frame. Appearance-wise, his chestnut brown hair is cut close to his skull in the obligatory "high and tight" style and his eyes are a unique shade of golden hazel. A pair of gunmetal grey wire framed glasses finishes off his look.

"Don't even think about it, Yank," Mui says sharply. "I'm well out of your league. It's bad enough I'm having to baby sit your scrawny arse because the rest of your military is too bloody lazy or incompetent to do it; so I really don't want to have to deal you drooling over me instead of doing your bloody job."

"Fair enough," Martin answers coolly, not letting her bitchiness faze him. Walking into his office, he goes over to the mini fridge behind his desk, pulls out a couple bottles of water and sets one on the deck for her. "So you want more details on my mission?"

"That would be helpful," she says, plopping into the chair behind his desk like she owns it.

Arching an eyebrow over her games, Martin closes the door and takes one of the seats across from his desk, sitting so he can see the doorway and Mui at the same time.

_That's interesting. Not having his back to the door. Smart thinking,_ Mui thought behind her mask of arrogance, continuing to size him up. _And he's not letting me get under his skin. Most people would have gotten pissed-off by now._

"I'm sure Colonel Garrett already told you that I'm going to be running around and checking up with my contacts over the next few weeks," Martin says, taking a swig of his water. "What he doesn't know is that the majority of my contacts aren't the kind of people the brass would like to be associated with."

"Let me guess. They're mafia," she says, not necessarily surprised.

"Mafia, People's Liberation Army, NK turn coats, et cetera," he confirms. "Since this mission is sensitive, I'll be posing as a contractor and I won't be carrying any of my AN or US documents. If I get caught, the government will disavow any knowledge of what I'm doing and cover their tracks."

_This job might actually be interesting,_ Mui thought, sipping at her water, keeping her mask of arrogance in place to hide her thoughts. "What can you tell me about your past work?" she asks, wanting to get a better gauge on how competent he is.

"Much of it's classified," he answers truthfully. "But I can tell you that I was the one who tracked down Hwangbo to Song Tower."

"I see. At least you're somewhat competent," she answers, trying to get a rise out of him. _Actually, he's a damn good intel officer if he managed to track down Hwangbo as quickly as he did. And he seems to be competent with weapons. There's more to this Leftenant than meets the eye._ Aloud, she says, "Well I've had a long day. I assume, since I'm your babysitter, that I'll be sharing quarters with you?"

_Again with that "babysitter" shit. Either she's really pissed that she's my escort or she's trying to piss me off._ "Yes, we'll be in the same quarters. There's already a spare bunk, foot locker, and so on so you don't have to worry. Can't say I'll be able to do much about the rumors, though," he comments with a snarky grin

"Maybe if I kick you in the balls, it'll keep the idiots silent," she retorted, the expression in her eyes plainly saying that it's not an idle threat.

"That won't be necessary," Martin answers with a laugh. _She's definitely out of my league. Beauty, brains, and toughness. It's a shame._ Finishing his water, he tosses the empty bottle into the trash bin and stands. "This way."

Leading the way out of the HQ building, Martin walks over to the barracks and to his quarters. True to his word, the room is set up with two separate beds, extra storage units, and so on. The room is partitioned off with a changing screen so they can at least have a modicum of privacy when needed.

"I'm taking the bed closest to the door," Mui said, dropping her pack onto the bed in question.

"Fair enough," Martin says, sitting on the other bed and taking off his boots and socks. "Latrine's over there," he continues, waving toward a door on the side wall. While she heads into the latrine for a shower, Martin quickly changes out of his uniform and into a grey t-shirt and black sweat pants.

While she's in the shower, Mui takes the time to relax and think about the situation. _He's definitely not typical of the Americans I've dealt with before. He's not letting me get under his skin nor is he turning into a slavering sack of hormones nor is he questioning my skill. It's a refreshing change of pace, actually._ When she's finished, she sees that he's already turned in for the night.

Hearing the latrine door open, Martin glances over to see Mui walking over to her bed. "Good night, Mui," he says, wanting to be polite, at least.

"Good night, Leftenant," she answers, lying in bed and turning off her lamp before stripping down to her underwear and crawling between the sheets of her bed. Not ten minutes after her head hits the pillow, she falls asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: ONCE AGAIN, I DON'T OWN THE MERCS FRANCHISE.

_A/N: Alright, I know the last chapter was a bit slow, but I got to start somewhere. Please read and review and be sure to check out my Mass Effect story titled "Halo of Flies"._

* * *

><p>"So how are things going so far?" Mui's support operative Fiona Taylor asks over their satcom, her voice carrying a strong Australian accent.<p>

"Boring," Mui answers simply. "All I've been doing is following Leftenant Martin around while he gets ready for his assignment."

"At least you're getting paid," Fiona comments, knowing her friend would much rather be out blowing something up than be a bodyguard. "So what's he like?"

"He seems competent enough on the intel side of things and he knows his way around a rifle, but he has practically zero field experience," Mui answers, keeping to business.

"I could have told you that. ExOps has been looking at recruiting him as a potential support operative after he leaves the Air Force," Fiona countered. "I meant how is he as a person?"

"I'm not quite sure what to make of him. He's confident, but readily admits to his weaknesses and faults. He gave me a once-over when we met, but after I told him he didn't have a chance, he backed off and has been a consummate professional. I'd almost say he's boring, but then he does things that set him apart. They're subtle, but they add up."

"Such as?" Fiona asks.

"Well, to start he practically never sits with his back to a door. When he goes to the chow hall, he sits in a place where he can see both exits and the majority of the surrounding area. He also has a habit of scanning an area with his eyes every so often," Mui says, her voice reflecting her puzzlement over the Lieutenant's seemingly conflicting nature. "Another thing I noticed is that he sizes people up whenever he meets them. As if he's deciding if they're a threat or not."

"Really? That's interesting. Not typical of your average intel officer, that's for sure," Fiona says. "Any other quirks about him?"

"Yeah. For some reason, whenever he's around me he winds up mimicking my accent after a few minutes. I'm not sure if he's doing it deliberately, but it's starting to get irritating," Mui answers around a yawn, reflecting her boredom since she's sitting outside the AN briefing room and waiting for Lieutenant Martin to finish his briefing with Colonel Garrett.

* * *

><p>Sitting in a hard-backed chair, Martin somehow manages to stay awake through the briefings that all were focused on "remember to represent America in a positive light" and other fell-good political correctness. <em>Why the fuck are they worried about image when I'm going to be under the radar?<em> he wondered in irritation. _If we spent as much time looking for Song as we do on PR, his ass would be vulture bait by now._

When the briefing is finally over, Martin leaves the room just in time to see Mui yawning from boredom and commenting on his quirk of mimicking accents. "Actually, it's subconscious."

At the sound of his voice, Mui jumps a bit and glares daggers at him. Unfazed, he says, "Ready to go?"

"Where are we going now? Does the AN want you to know how to dry behind your ears before going out to play?" she asks sarcastically.

"Har, har," Martin answers dryly, scratching at the two day old stubble that he's been growing along with letting his hair get out of regs. "All the briefings and PR bullshit is done so the only thing left is for me to get outfitted."

_Finally, this job can get started,_ Mui thinks as they leave the building.

A couple hours later, they're riding around in a Toyota Hilux pickup truck, heading for the nearest weapons dealer in Pyongyang. "When you said that you needed to get outfitted I assumed the AN would have provided you with weapons," Mui commented, irritated once again at the collective stupidity of the AN."

"I know, right?" Martin answered, his voice holding a very slight London accent despite his best efforts not to mimic Mui and piss her off even further. "Apparently they think that an American intel officer running around without documents and armed with AN-issue weaponry is a diplomatic incident waiting to happen." Despite his usual calm, his frustration with the bureaucrats is beginning to show. "Too bad they don't stop to think that my getting captured or killed is worse than looking bad to the press."

"Please tell me that I'm not going to have to buy your weapons for you."

"Don't worry. I've got enough money to make purchases with. I won't be calling in air strikes but I'll be able to get guns, ammo, and other essentials." he answered as they passed by a Mafia checkpoint.

"Well that's something, at least," Mui commented as they pulled up to the warehouse where the Mafia weapons dealers have set up shop.

Getting out of the truck, Martin stretches as he waits for Mui to retrieve her carbine. _I'm just glad I'm not in uniform_, he thinks, knowing he'll stand out bad enough as it is since he's a Westerner. The charcoal cargo pants, black heavy duty button-down shirt, black leather boots, and black baseball cap also make him stand out a bit, but at least he won't likely be ID'd as an AN officer. Once Mui's ready, they walk into the market.

_Talk about being well connected,_ Martin thinks as he looks over rack after rack of various small arms ranging from M16 and AK-47 rifles to pistols and revolvers of all types. After several minutes of browsing, Martin makes his choices: an H&K MP5K-PDW, a Mossberg 500 Cruiser, and a SIG-Sauer P226 9mm.

_Interesting choices,_ Mui thinks, starting to believe that she may have underestimated the Lieutenant. _Nothing too fancy. Just simple and practical_.

Moving on to from the guns, Martin buys several cases of ammo, a mix of hollow points, armor piercing rounds, buckshot, and slugs, a pack, a PDA, and a satcom receiver. On his way out of the building, he spots something that he hasn't seen in a long while: a Sykes-Fairbairn commando knife. Pausing for a moment, he lifts the blade and draws it from its leather scabbard, feeling the balance and comfortable weight, before adding it to the items he's purchased. Gathering everything together, he heads back to their truck. "I'm glad that went smoothly," he comments as he loads the crates into the bed of the truck.

"I know what you mean. No matter how much I deal with the Mafia, I still stay wary of them deciding to shoot me in the back. Especially with Sergei," Mui answers, helping him load the truck.

"Yeah, Sergei's not the most stable person around here. Doesn't help that he's an idiot as well." he answers, loading the last crate into the truck. With that finished, he grabs a few boxes of 9mm AP rounds, a couple boxes of 9mm hollow points, a box of buckshot and a box of slugs, and gets into the truck.

"So where to now?" Mui asks, starting the engine.

"Know anyplace that we can use as a safe house?" he asks, loading his weapons and putting the spare ammo in the glove box and center console.

"Several, actually." she answers, driving out of Pyongyang and heading for a fairly remote area in the farmlands, the Hilux pickup easily handling the rough terrain. Pulling up to a non descript house that is well-hidden, she turns off the engine and sets about unloading the truck.

Martin follows suit, unloading the truck and carrying the crates into the house, finding it to be surprisingly well maintained with an electric generator near the back door as well as a decent computer rig. "I take it this is where you've been staying when not on a job?"

"You're a regular Sherlock Holmes, aren't you?" Mui answered sarcastically.

"More like Watson, always stating the obvious," he says, determined not to let her bitchy attitude piss him off, but it's getting tiresome. "What frequency are you using to communicate with your support operative?"

Mui actually laughed a bit at his answer to her snarky question. When he asked for the frequency she uses to keep in touch with Fiona, she hesitates for a moment. "Alright. Let me see your satcom." When he hands it over, the punches in the frequency and hands it back.

"Com check," he says into the microphone he's clipped to his collar.

"Reading you loud and clear," Fiona said cheerfully. "It's nice to finally talk to you."

"Thank you," he answers warmly, firing up his PDA and checking his connection to the uplink.

"So where are these contacts of yours?" Mui asks, wanting to get on with the job.

"First one's in Nampo. He's a Chinese Captain who is more than a little pissed-off at Colonel Peng. He'll be in the area tomorrow during a routine patrol. Until then, there's really not much to do."

"Great. More babysitting."

"Hey, you volunteered for this. Would you rather I be some reporter bitching about deadlines or a WMD inspector crying about getting shot at?"

"He has a point, you know," Fiona pipes up. "You could try to be a bit nicer to him."

"What are you, my mother?" Mui asked in irritation. "All right, I'll try to play nice, if only because it'll be too tiring to be a bitch all the time," she sighs, sitting on an old couch that was in the house when she found it. "So… how many languages do you speak?"

"I speak Russian, Mandarin, Cantonese, and Korean," he answers, sitting in a nearby chair. "The Russian I spoke before joining the service and I can pass for native easily enough. The Chinese and Korean, I'm not as proficient in, but I can carry on a conversation and do interrogations if needed. Well, that's assuming some of the midlevel staff pukes will quit wringing their hands and soiling their silk underwear long enough for me to do my fucking job."

_That sounds like the frustration I dealt with when I was in MI6_, Mui thought, starting like the American despite her usual opinion about his countrymen. "Well that's one of the advantages of being a merc. Take the job, get it done, get paid, and let someone else deal with the political bullshit."

"I've been seriously thinking about it," Martin admits, glad to be able to talk to someone who's been there and done that with becoming a merc. "ExOps has been contacting me off and on the last few months since my contract with the Air Force is almost up. Thing is, I'm not sure if I'd want to stay in a support role or if I'd rather be in the field. That's part of the reason I told Colonel Garrett I'd take this mission."

"Really?" Mui, asked, her ire rising. "So you coming out here is you wanting to see what it's like in the field? Is this a bloody game to you?"

"Far from it, Mui. If I thought this was a game, do you think I'd be acting the way I am? I'm nervous as all hell because I've never done anything like this before," he answers sharply.

"All right. How much training do you have?"

"In addition to the rudimentary training I was given by the military, you mean? I've spent my own money and went to various pistol and carbine courses over the past few years, mainly from PMCs who also teach civilians, cops, and military personnel when they're not taking contracts," he answers evenly, keeping a tight leash on his temper.

"Fair enough. Why did you pick the weapons you did back at the market?"

"The MP5K is because I'm going to be getting in and out of cars pretty often and an M4 is a pain in the ass for that kind of thing, even when the stock is collapsed. I picked the Mossberg because a twelve-gauge shotgun is a powerful and versatile tool when handled properly. It also makes a good car gun. As for the SIG, I own an identical version back home in the States and I've got more trigger time on it than any other firearm," he answers without missing a beat.

"What about that Sykes-Fairbairn knife?"

"What about it? It's a well-made knife that I happen to have a bit of skill with. Nothing more." he said, trying to evade the question.

"Are you sure about that? I saw how you reacted when you saw it." she pressed.

"Alright," he answers, pausing for a moment to get his thoughts in order. "Ordinarily I'd say it's none of your damn business, but… My favorite uncle gave me a Fairbairn knife when I was a boy. He was starting to teach me how to fight with it but he was killed by a drunk driver before we got past the basics. Maybe I'm being a bit too sentimental, but I figure having a Fairbairn knife with me is almost like having my uncle by my side."

_Well. That's not what I was expecting,_ Mui thought, surprised that he's willing to share something that personal with her. _He's definitely a trusting sort. That could get him killed if he's not careful._ "You're right. It is sentimental, but as long as you don't let it go to far, I won't have to take you to a sanatorium."

Smirking a bit, Martin changes over to a proper English accent, the kind that you'd hear in a Shakespearean play and pulls out his favorite quote from Hamlet: "I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know the hawk from the handsaw."

"Wise-arse," Mui countered, rolling her eyes to hide her amusement over their banter.

"Beats the alternative," Martin answers, his voice holding only the barest traces of a Brit accent now. "Well, I've told you about me. Your turn."

"You already know what you need to know about me. I'm the best damn mercenary money can buy and I'll do the job as long as I'm getting paid," Mui answered coldly, not wanting to get too close to her charge.

"Fair enough," Martin said, backing off since he really doesn't want to piss off a woman who is more dangerous than he is. "So where do you want me to sleep?"

"There's a cot in the bedroom you'll be using," she answered, her voice still cool, but not as harsh.

Without another word, Martin grabs his pack and makes for the cot, wanting to rest up as much as he can since tomorrow is bound to be a long day.

* * *

><p>"That was a bit harsh, Jen," Fiona said over the private frequency that she shares with Mui. "He's just trying to be nice."<p>

"And that niceness will get him killed," Mui answered, using her PDA to try to find out more about Martin's mission. "I'm being paid to keep him alive, not be his friend."

"And you wonder why you have a hard time finding a date."

"Hey, I can get a date just fine. It's the morons that I keep running into that are the problem."

"Riiiight," Fiona said, her tone clearly saying that she's not buying it. "Suit yourself, then. Well, I'm going to sign off for a while. Try to stay out of trouble in the meantime."

"Talk to you later, Fiona," Mui said, closing her PDA and deciding to head to bed. Entering the bedroom, she sees Martin's fast asleep, with his MP5 in easy reach. _He's actually not all that bad and he's got the right instincts. I just hope he doesn't get himself killed,_ she thinks as she lies down on her bed and goes to sleep.


End file.
